"Oh, Christ," said Gregor and spoke for so many others that the blasphemy passed without comment.
There were looks all round the table. No question: the rector had won the day. There wasn't even a vote. Elliott withdrew his nomination and Rachel was appointed as the new treasurer.
The meeting ended in just under the half-hour. "If Sands had been here, we'd have been discussing it till midnight," Norman Gregor said to Peggy Winner as they lingered outside on the drive.
"What was it about?" she said.
Norman's shaggy eyebrows popped up at the question.
"What's the rector up to?" Peggy said. "What's the hidden agenda here?"
"I'm not with you, Peg."
"Rachel's a sweet woman, but who'd think about her for parish treasurer?"
"The rector did."
"Yes, and we all backed his choice because he's the top banana. I was expecting him to tell us she took a degree in maths or worked in a bank or something. No experience. Nothing. He's got his doubts about Burton Sands. Fine. Pick someone else, but why pick Rachel?"
"Maybe it's for her sake."
"Why?"
"To get her involved more."
Peggy was scornful of that theory. "She's involved. More involved than most of us. She goes round the houses collecting for this and that. She's always in the thick of it when we have a fete or a safari supper or carol-singing. And she's into acting, for heaven's sake. She was in that thing about the women's Turkish bath, Steaming. She doesn't need bringing out."
"What do you think, then?"
A grin spread over Peggy's face. "Not for me to say." But it was transparently clear what she meant.
"She's married," said Norman.
Peggy nodded, still grinning.
"And him a man of God?" said Norman. "You must have it wrong."
"He was hitched before. He knows what it is to be with a woman."
"But not someone else's wife. That's against the Commandments. You want to be careful what you say, Peggy. The Rector's a much respected man here and Rachel's not that sort of woman at all, what I've seen of her."
"He took her off to the hospital in his car the day she broke her arm."
"So he should have, too. It happened on his patch. If you want my opinion, Peggy, you read too many of those Jackie Collins books."
"I didn't say they were up to things … yet."
"Oh, come on!"
Peggy laughed. "We'll see."
"I hope not," Norman said. "He's a breath of fresh air to this village. I'd hate to see him caught with his pants down." He opened his car and tossed his briefcase inside. "Would you like a lift, or would that be my reputation down the plughole?"
Otis phoned Rachel with the news. As he'd expected, she was still uncomfortable with the idea. He told her the decision had been so clear it hadn't even been put to the vote. She was ideally suited to be treasurer, he insisted, and it was nice that the PCC had shown such confidence.
He said he wasn't able to, visit her that evening to congratulate her personally as he had one more pastoral call to make.
Disappointed, she didn't want to appeat selfish, wanting a share of his time when he was so committed to his work in the parish. She knew from things she heard at work that he spent hours comforting the sick, the bereaved and the lonely.
"How about some time Wednesday evening?" he suggested, and her spirit soared. "I can't manage tomorrow. It's my free day and I won't be around."
"Somewhere nice?" she asked on impulse, knowing it was none of her business, but giving him the chance, if he wished, to take her into his confidence. Instantly she knew she sounded like a chattering schoolgirl angling for a date.
"Not specially," he said. "Is Wednesday possible? It isn't just about congratulating you. We should start to look at the books."
"Wednesday is fine … Otis."
"Excellent."
They fixed a time of seven-thirty.
Immediately she put the phone down it rang again.
"So, big spender, when are you off to the Bahamas?"
Cynthia, being waggish.
"With the church money, you mean?" said Rachel. "No chance. I'll be lucky if I get to Weymouth with the Sunday school."
"Congratulations anyway, darling. I just heard. How refreshing to have a woman write the cheques. 1 was rooting for you, of course. We didn't want that tepid little teabag taking over. He thought he was home and dry, no contest, him being a chartered accountant." Hoots of laughter came down the phone. "He won't have the faintest notion how it happened. How did it happen?"
"I've no idea, Cyn. I wasn't there."
"And no one's told you? Hasn't the rector been on yet to give you the news?"
"Yes. A few minutes ago."
"I should think so, too. Is he coming round to share a bottle of bubbly with you?"
"No, Cynthia," she said, not liking the drift of this. "There isn't any cause for celebration. It's just a job I was asked to take on."
"Yes, but he put you up for it. He should stand you a drink, at the very least. You'll see him later, I expect?"
Questions, questions, questions.
"No. He's busy."
"Tomorrow? Oh. Forgot. That's his day off. He'll be away before breakfast and back about midnight. Where does he go every Tuesday?"
"I haven't the faintest idea. Cyn, who else was up for treasurer?"
"Didn't anyone tell you? Sourpuss. The one who never smiles. He would have been a real damper on the parish council."
"Yes, but who? Did you say he's an accountant?"
Cynthia laughed. "A chartered accountant, my dear. He goes off every day in his pinstripe suit to Warminster clutching his little briefcase with his tuna sandwiches inside."
Now she knew who Cynthia meant. "Burton Sands. And they chose me? I don't understand it."
"Otis wanted you, that's obvious. He'd rather deal with you than a pain in the arse like Burton, and who wouldn't? Good thing you're happily married, ducky, or tongues might wag."
"For pity's sake, Cynthia."
"How is Gary? Has he phoned you from America?"
Cynthia didn't let up.
"Not yet. It's difficult with the time difference and everything. I'm sure he's having a good time."
"Not too good, I hope."
When she came off the phone, Rachel shook her head and sighed, but less over Cynthia than the remarkable decision of the PCC.
She made herself tea, trying to understand how Otis could have swung the decision her way. He could charm the birds off the trees, she knew, but she couldn't imagine how he persuaded anyone she would make a better treasurer than Burton Sands. Yet it had been so obvious, he'd said, that it hadn't even been put to the vote.
Wednesday evening, then. What would she put on? The suits she wore to church each Sunday simply would not do. In her own home she ought to strike a less formal note, not the sweater and jeans she was wearing right now, but something that set a relaxed mood, for him, as well as herself. A dress, she decided, and nothing too tartish. She had a dark green frock she had bought in Kensington last time she had been to London, with sweet little fabric-covered buttons to the neck and a full skirt. Gary had liked it. No-she thought the minute Gary sprang to mind-I won't wear that old thing. I'll go to Bath tomorrow and look round the shops. Treat myself to something really special.
A drop-dead dress, as they say in America. Well, a stunner, at least.
Then there was the food. He wouldn't expect a full meal at that stage of the evening, but she had to offer something. Sweet or savoury? A warm dish would be best. She was brilliant at individual souffles that always rose and spilled over the top, but they needed whisking, and it might be difficult dashing between the Magimix and the account books. The food ought to be ready-cooked and warmed up with the minimum of fuss. Quiche, or pizza. Quiche, she thought, for the rector. Better still, some of those extra-special cocktail snacks from the delicatessen in Bath. She'd get them at the same time as she got the dress. And if she served cocktail snacks, she had to have a bottle of wine.